


Coping Mechanisms

by letitout



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), Fantasy High
Genre: Coming of Age, Depictions of Disordered Eating, Discussions of death, M/M, set somewhere during the start of the bad kids sophmore year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22095184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letitout/pseuds/letitout
Summary: Fabian tests out a new coping mechanism. Riz investigates his sexuality.
Relationships: Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster
Comments: 41
Kudos: 321





	1. Heaven

Fabian is… coping. 

No- coping isn’t the right word. He’s _thriving_. He’s the captain of the Aguefort Owlbears, a member of one of the finest adventuring parties Aguefort has ever seen, and he’s excelling in all of his classes. Success comes easily to Fabian. This doesn’t surprise him- he is, after all, Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster. His destiny was written into greatness before he was even born. 

And yet. There is something heavy that lives inside of Fabian that he can’t seem to shake off. He walks with a little less swagger and he laughs with a little less gusto than he did just last year. While he is not one for introspection, Fabian is starting to notice a pattern. He notices how everything greys a little when he goes to introduce himself, and the script rolls off of his tongue like clockwork, _Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster_ , before he halts. The words stick like cement to the back of his throat as he corrects himself: _son of the late Bill Seacaster_. Similar scenarios crop up: after defeating a party of oozing swamp creatures, Fabian had rushed home, his mind buzzing with the excitement of telling his father, his legs carrying him up to the crows nest before- oh. He’s wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t. It happens again, when Fabian finds himself calling his father on his crystal- it’s not until the third ring that Fabian’s mind catches up with him. Nobody is going to answer. 

Fabian hates it. He hates feeling foolish, feeling weak, feeling this weight build and build on him with no way to put it down. He hates waking up and having the information that his father is gone hit him every time. It’s pathetic, really. A little voice in him reminds him that his father is still around- just in a different plane, waiting for Fabian to join him. His father is probably not thinking about Fabian as much as Fabian is thinking about him. No- he’s definitely not. William Seacaster would not let his emotions control him. He would not be soft, or weak, or wake up with Fabian’s name in his mouth in a cold sweat. So Fabian will simply have to learn to do the same. This is how he is coping. 

-

This is an investigation. 

The canteen table that Riz sits at is overflowing- Kristen and Tracker (who by all accounts shouldn’t be here- Tracker isn’t even a student at the school, but nobody seems to mind her being here) are sidled up in one corner, so close that they might as well be one person. Fig is next to Riz, her bass slung over her back. She’s talking at Adaine, who is only half paying attention as she practices some sort of illusionary magic on her cutlery. Adaine’s fork shimmers and then turns into a spoon, and then her spoon turns into her knife, and her knife turns into a spoon, and then they continue to switch until Riz loses track. And then, opposite Riz, is Gorgug and Ragh.

Riz knows that he’s staring. But hey, he’s a totally, 100% licensed investigator, he’s just doing his job. 

There’s something about Ragh. Something almost _enticing_ that Riz has been noticing more and more frequently. Or, for a more accurate depiction, Riz has been noticing _him_ more frequently. He notices the way Ragh’s letterman jacket hangs on his shoulders. The way his muscles move. His calves. His eyes. He takes Rizz off-guard, somehow. And that definitely justifies an investigation, doesn’t it? 

Riz admittedly watches Kristen and Tracker occasionally, but in a different way. He can’t explain what it is. There’s just a familiarity between them that some buried part of Riz longs for. It’s so easy for them. They’re different from most couples that he knows (granted, he doesn’t know too many couples in the first place). Riz needs to stop staring at his friends, he decides. He especially needs to stop staring at Ragh. There’s no reason to be staring, given their history. He and Ragh didn’t get off to the best start. Being dunked in a trash can by somebody doesn’t lend the best first impression- but it feels so far away now. Now, there’s just Ragh, sitting opposite Riz, laughing much too loud at something Gorgug just said. 

Riz should totally launch an investigation on what makes Ragh laugh. 

Gorgug and Ragh sit so their knees touch. Do they notice this contact? Riz can’t help but wonder what it would feel like. Maybe he’ll try and grab a seat to Ragh tomorrow. Maybe he’ll just close enough so that their arms will brush, or he’ll make a quip and Ragh will turn to him and-

“The Ball? Earth to The Ball?”

Fabian’s lunch tray clatters down in front of Riz. Riz tears his eyes away from the sight in front of him, and looks up and Fabian. His silvery-white hair is pushed back, his eye-patch just slightly askew, and the ever present letterman jacket fits snugly against his arms and torso like a second skin. Fuck. Riz should start staring at Ragh again. 

There’s something about Fabian that’s different from the rest of his friends. Even the nickname- that stupid nickname- has become one of Riz’s favourite things to hear when it’s Fabian who’s saying it. When Fabian is around, Riz’s brain fogs up just a little too much for comfort. His breath catches one too many times. He notices too many details. 

Riz has never had a real best friend before, and he certainly didn’t expect it to be quite so intense. But he’s not complaining- at least not too much. If this is the price of friendship, he’s willing to pay it. 

“I’ve got to get to practice, so I won’t stay long,” Fabian says, sliding into the seat next to Riz, and Riz is totallynotaware of the warmth Fabian’s body seems to radiate or how he smells of salt and grass and metal, “You coming, Ragh?”

Ragh nods, “Sure thing, Captain.”

A spark of something- something similar to irritation flares up inside of Riz. It’s that word: Captain. Fabian preens at it. Riz wants to roll the word around his mouth, he wants it to fill any space he shares with Fabian, but he’s not an Owlbear. There’s a social barrier separating Riz from the acceptability of calling Fabian Captain, and the fact that Ragh gets to call Fabian that with such ease just doesn’t feel fair. 

Riz pushes the feeling down and focuses on his food. He can’t run the risk of letting his thoughts spiral in case someone nearby is casting detect thoughts on him. He has nightmares about that, sometimes. Dreams filled with spectral figures digging into his brain and laying every thought and emotion bare for the world to see. 

Riz attempts to clear his head of anything incriminating. He fills his thoughts with nonsense: _Mashed potatoes._ Just in case. _Mashed potatoes._ This isn’t paranoia, it’s a safety net. _Mashed potatoes, mashed potatoes, mashed potatoes._

-

Fabian can always breathe a little easier on the Bloodrush field. This is his kingdom, his territory, his domain. The bleachers tower over the grass like towns, waiting for their citizens to come and watch over him. Fabian loves playing Bloodrush, of course. The feeling of his body moving faster than he thought it could, the blood pumping through his veins, the adrenaline, but most of all, he thinks he likes the crowd. The feeling Fabian gets when he scores and turns out to the students is incomparable to anything else. The sound of his name is so _good_ when it is coming from an adoring crowd. 

During warmup’s Fabian sees a flash of green in the bleachers. The back of his neck pricks the way it does when he can feel someone watching him. There’s a flash of movement, and Fabian clocks the familiarity of this action as belonging to Riz. Fabian doesn’t know why Riz would come to watch Bloodrush practice- surely there would be a better use of his time- but Fabian nonetheless takes full advantage of this knowledge. He has his audience and he thrives under it. He pushes himself a little harder, runs with a little more grace, makes his throws with a carefully crafted accuracy. Every small movement is a performance and Fabian lives for this. This isn’t vanity- no, Fabian Aramais Seacaster, destined to a life of adventure, doesn’t care enough about his appearances to be _vain._ This is simply a practice in upholding his reputation. 

When practice comes to an end, and Gortholax tells the team to hit the showers, Fabian decides to make a pit-stop. He wipes the sweat from his brow and makes a detour towards the bleachers. As he comes closer, he can see Riz retreating within himself. Riz hunches into his shoulders, making him seem smaller than he already is, and his ears are pressed down flat. He looks like a scared animal, backing itself into a corner. Fabian quickly scans the area for a threat- but there’s nothing. Just himself, and The Ball. 

“Hey,” Fabian says casually, “Have you got a class out here?”

He doesn’t mean to, but Fabian can feel himself still performing while talking to Riz. He doesn’t need to. This is just Riz, who Fabian feels comfortable around, who is of a lower social standing than himself, who wouldn’t be able to tarnish Fabian’s reputation if he tried- and yet. Some part of him wants to impress Riz. This is his favourite audience of one. 

“No, I, uh. Investigation,” Riz coughs, his ears twitching, and Fabian wonders if Riz can feel it when he does that, or if it’s as unconscious as breathing or blinking, “I was investigating.” 

Fabian frowns, “Is there something going on that I should know about?” 

“No!” Riz says, and then re-adjusting himself, “Nope, everything’s super cool.”

Fabian gives him _a look_ , and then shrugs, “If you say so, The Ball.”

Fabian doesn’t understand Riz all of the time. While he would never admit the fact out loud, Fabian knows that Riz is more intelligent than himself. Riz’s brain is constantly ticking over, putting pieces together, seeing things that Fabian misses. Fabian would like to spend a day with Riz’s thoughts. He would like to feel the weight of all that knowledge, but at the same time it seems like it would just be awfully loud. 

“Are you coming to our next game?” Fabian asks. Riz shifts, his eyes darting nervously. 

“Uh, no, I’m probably tied up with something,” Riz says, and Fabian feels himself deflate a little. Riz, quick to pick up on just about anything, amends with, “But I could shift a few things around?” 

Fabian smiles, “Good. I like it when you come. I think I play better when you’re there.”

Riz doesn’t say anything, just stares back, and Fabian wishes he was better at reading people. Sometimes Riz stares at him with a carefully curated expression of nothingness, and Fabian would like nothing more than to chip through it and see what really lurks underneath. 

“I think you’re my good luck charm,” Fabian says, half sincere, half still trying to get a rise out of Riz just enough so that a hint of something pushes through. 

“Great!” Riz says, his voice slightly strangled. Panic- and then nothing. Strange.

“I’ll see you later in class,” Fabian says, and makes his way over to the showers. He doesn’t know if Riz is still watching, but Fabian gets the feeling he is. He hopes someone’s watching. 

-

The good thing about having a private office is that Riz has a personal computer with a search engine perfect for abusing. A shameful internet search history can be deleted in a second with no chance of intrusion. Riz knows what most teenage boys would be doing with this privilege, but he watched porn once and it just sort of freaked him out. Instead, Riz has his own collection of mildly embarrassing internet searches: quizzes about which character he would be from his favourite childhood detective cartoon, conspiracy theory forums and his dad’s name. 

Riz stares at the computer screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He could check up on some local police reports, or sift through the most recent posts on Elmville’s neighbourhood watch. As a rule, he doesn’t get himself into anything too heavy on his own. Riz just likes to check out small misdemeanors that he can help deal with to keep himself sharp. 

Riz starts typing. 

Thousands of results pop up pretty quickly. This must be a common question, and Riz feels himself relax somewhat. He’s just doing this for fun. It’s just a small investigation. He’s just collecting evidence. Riz clicks on the first result. 

_CrystalQuiz.com/Am-I-Gay?_

The questions are pretty straight forward. Riz doesn’t know what he expected. He chuckles at himself- he’s really hit rock bottom in terms of keeping himself busy, huh? Turning to dumb quizzes to keep himself occupied. What a strange thing to do for fun. It’s just for fun. 

Riz gets about half-way through the quiz before the question, _Do you find yourself admiring members of the same gender? Yes, very frequently / Yes, sometimes / I’m not sure / No, very rarely / No, never_ flashes on his screen. Something churns deep inside of Riz’s stomach. A hot flash of sickness, maybe, that makes Riz exit the webpage. He must have eaten something bad earlier. It’s fine, he’ll just go home and maybe cook something for himself and his mom. He didn’t really want to see the results of the quiz anyway. It was just a dumb game to pass the time. It doesn’t mean anything. It was just for fun. Riz shuts his computer down and goes home. 

-

Gravity feels stronger at the Seacaster manor. Fabian’s body always feels heavier here, and his movements become more sluggish. He walks up to the front entrance and stands in front of the door for a moment, unmoving. It takes Fabian a while to sum up the energy to be able to walk inside. 

The house is jarringly empty. The manor has always been large, with many vacant rooms, but it didn’t always feel so sparse. This was younger Fabian’s castle. Each room was a challenge, and the rigging around the modified ship was part of a grand adventure. This was his territory, his land- now that the glamour has been removed, Fabian sees it for what it must have always been: a collection of dust, plywood, and unoccupied beds. 

Hallariel is in the kitchen. Fabian finds her with a bottle of rum in her hand, standing over the sink. The bottle is uncapped and for a moment Fabian feels a jolt of fear, and a scenario where his mother turns to him with hazy eyes and a thick voice that coos to him runs through his mind, but then Hallariel tips the bottle and the contents begin to pour down the sink. The _gluglugluglug_ of the bottle fills the silence as Fabian watches his mother, whose eyes are trained onto the sickly orange stream of rum as it is swallowed by the drain. 

“Fabian, darling,” Hallariel’s voice makes Fabian jump- she hadn’t once regarded him since he had walked in, and he wasn’t aware that she knew he was present, “How was school?” 

Hallariel’s voice is cold and somewhat distant, but there is a comfort in the absence of a slur. Fabian isn’t scared of anything- but sometimes something cold inside of his stomach grabs at him when he thinks of his mother going back to the way she was before. Hallariel places the now empty bottle down on the counter, and turns to look at Fabian. She looks haggard. She looks _older._

“Fine,” Fabian says, and upon being met with Hallariel’s steely gaze, he amends to, “Great. I’m doing really well in school. Your training has definitely put me a rung above my peers.” 

Hallariel looks mildly appeased by this. Her eyes sweep over the kitchen and suddenly widen. Fabian follows her gaze towards the oven, where a trickle of black smoke slips through out of the door. Hallariel rushes over to the oven and yanks it open, pulling out whatever was inside- now an unrecognizable charred lump. It might have been a meal, but Fabian doubts that it’s new form is any less appetizing than whatever Hallariel had put in the oven in the first place. Hallariel is skilled at many things, but cooking is not one of her feats. 

“Oh, for _goodness_ -” Hallariel curses, dumping the tray into the sink with a clatter. She brushes a few strands of hair out of her face, clearly flustered. “I do so _much_ in this house. You’d think at least one thing would be easy! I spend all day _slaving away_ to make things nice-”

Fabian doesn’t know who his mother is talking to, but just being in the room is starting to put him in a state of unease. 

“Is Cathilda around, mother? I’m sure she’d be able to-” Fabian starts, and abruptly stops when Hallariel turns to him with a glare. 

“Cathilda had a ‘family emergency’ today,” Hallariel snaps, and Fabian briefly begins to wonder if maids have families when Hallariel continues, “I don’t know what could be such a big emergency that she had to leave in the middle of the day! I mean, honestly, what are we paying her to do?” 

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” Fabian says tentatively. Wrong move. 

“Go to your room,” Hallariel says, “We’ll do some training later on. I need space to clean this up.” 

Fabian nods, docile, and makes his way to the fridge to grab something to eat. He hears a _clang_ and suddenly his mothers rapier is at his throat and he stops dead in his tracks. He didn’t even know she had that thing on her, where on earth did it come from? 

“I thought I told you to go to your room,” Hallariel says. Fabian looks over at her cautiously.

“I’m going in a moment, I just need to eat something,” Fabian explains. Hallariel does not lower the rapier. 

“Have you earned that privilege?” Hallariel asks. Fabian swallows. 

“No, I- I suppose not,” He says, and takes a step backwards. Hallariel sighs, and lowers the rapier. She walks over to Fabian and strokes his hair, the way she did when he was much younger. 

“I love you so much, you do understand that, don’t you?” Hallariel says, and Fabian nods, “I do so much for you, sweetheart. You have a roof over your head, the clothes on your back, all the wealth you could ever wish for, really. Don’t let it make you soft. I earned everything I have in life. I think it’s time you learn to man up a little and do the same, hmm?” 

Hallariel squeezes Fabian’s shoulder, and her fingers, long and bony, dig in just enough to make the affectionate gesture feel uncomfortable. Fabian loves his mother- it’s just hard to know where he stands with her these days. But he understands her intentions, at the very least. Hallariel has his best interests at heart and she loves him. He has to remember that. She wouldn’t be saying these things if they weren’t true. 

“I love you,” Fabian says, and Hallariel smiles at him. 

“I love you too, my beautiful boy. Now go to your room,” Hallariel says, and turns back to the sink. 

Fabian goes to his room. He lies on his bed and he tosses a ball and uses his computer until everything feels numb. Fabian is so used to feeling everything so strongly that sometimes feeling numb is worse than feeling horrible. 

A whine tears through the room, and Fabian sits upright, before realising that it came from himself. Another whine- his stomach. Fabian hadn’t realised how hungry he had gotten. It’s an unfamiliar feeling. It’s a sort of pain- one that Fabian hasn’t had the misfortune of encountering very often before. Oddly enough, it’s a welcome sort of pain. Fabian imagines himself sneaking down to the kitchen, easing the discomfort- and then stops himself. He sits with the feeling for a while. He wonders how long he could deal with this particular pain before he would give in. Perhaps he could make a game out of it. This is a test of willpower, of strength, of endurance. This is something to feel. 

Fabian does not leave his room that night. Instead he lies on his bed, and for the first time in a while, the heavy feeling that lives inside of his ribcage does not weigh down on him. He has other things to focus on. Other challenges to push through. For the first time in a while, Fabian feels completely in control. When he closes his eyes and begins to drift into sleep, the feelings of hunger and pain and control all mix into one, and together, they feel a lot like comfort. 

-

Tracker is at Aguefort again. Riz doesn’t know how Kristen keeps managing to sneak her in, or why she’d even want to be here, but hey. If they’re happy, Riz doesn’t want to overthink it too much. 

“Hey, Riz,” Tracker says when she spots him in the common room. She is without Kristen, a rare sight, but perhaps a welcome one. Riz doesn’t know Tracker too well as a person; the only reason he even knows her is through Kristen, but she has a pleasant aura about her. She seems so much more grounded than most people Riz knows. Riz gets the feeling that this is because Tracker has already been through the biggest storm of her life and has come out the other side, better for it. Riz wonders about his own storm. Has it come? Has it passed? Could he still be in it? 

“Tracker, hey,” Riz says, and joins her on the sofa she’s on, leaving an appropriate amount of distance in case Kristen comes back and wants to sidle in between them both. 

“How’s it going, licensed investigator?” Tracker asks with a playful grin. 

“Pretty good. Solved a cold case the other day about small arcane objects going missing around town from a few years back. Turns out a magpie was hoarding them,” Riz says. Tracker lets out a laugh. 

“Wow, pretty stellar work there,” Tracker says, and looks up as Kristen walks into the common room. Tracker holds out her arms to Kristen and coos, “Babe!”

Riz doesn’t look at Kristen. Instead, he focuses in on Tracker. Tracker looks at Kristen with something both strong and soft. Love, Riz supposes. And within that love he can see trust and comfort and excitement and stability all at once, and it makes his chest ache. Looking at Kristen and Tracker is like looking at a fogged over mirror. It has the capability to hold Riz’s reflection in it, but there is something in the way. Instead, Riz looks at Tracker and Kristen and his own longing and hope and jealousy is reflected back at him. 

“How about you guys?” Riz asks, and Kristen practically drapes herself over Tracker, arm around her shoulder and legs dangling over Tracker’s legs, “How are you guys… getting along?” 

Both Kristen and Tracker laugh, and Riz knows why. Riz sometimes feels like he’s been built half-goblin, half physical manifestation of social awkwardness. And then Kristen reaches over and briefly rests a hand on Riz’s shoulder, and he’s reminded that it’s okay if half of him feels like a bad joke. He has friends who see past that. 

“We’re doing good,” Kristen says, “We’ve got an expedition coming up-” 

“-Not houses in swamps this time,” Tracker cuts in. 

“No, not houses, actually it’s to do with our new religion-”

“Pretty cute that you still call it _our_ religion-”  
“We’re actually building a new church, I think it’s important to show young people-”

“The Church is being built on solid ground, by the way-”

“That there’s more options out there, that it’s good to question things-”

Riz watches as Tracker and Kristen overlap, talking about the life that they’re making together like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Maybe it is, for them. Riz wonders what that’s like. For things to be easy. 

“-but yeah, overall I think it’s going to be awesome,” Kristen says, and Riz snaps back into reality and nods. 

“Sorry, we were totally rambling,” Tracker says, and shifts in her seat to face Riz, and by doing which Kristen just manages to cling onto Tracker tighter, “We can be disgustingly couple-y, I know. What’s going on with you? Got your eye on anyone?” 

Riz practically squirms in his seat as he manages to force out a, “ _No_.” 

“Hey, maybe we could set you up with someone,” Kristen says excitedly, “What’s your type?” 

“I-” _Strong calves and letterman jackets,_ “I don’t think I, uh, have one?” 

_Broad shoulders and confidence. Tall._

“Yeah, I don’t think you’d know your type if it hit you in the face, Riz,” Tracker laughs. _Running down a Bloodrush field. Making passes effortlessly. Being kind. Being secure._

“Maybe you should investigate it, Riz,” Kristen jokes, playing along with Tracker. Riz’s thoughts grind to a halt. Riz knows that Kristen is joking, maybe making a jab just a little at his expense, but hey. He’s heard worse ideas. 

Investigate his type? Maybe he will. 

-

“I still think I should have been prom queen!” Fig is saying as Fabian joins the rest of his adventuring party at lunch. Adaine is watching Fig, amused. “I’m being serious! We wouldn’t have had to _practically risk our lives_ trying to get that crown if it had just been given to me in the first place!” 

“So you’re suggesting that a better use of our time in first year would have been to canvass for you to win prom queen? Instead of, I don’t know, actually looking for clues?” Adaine asks playfully. 

“That’s not what I’m saying! We totally could have done both! Penelope _sucked_ ,” Fig argues. 

“I think you’re just jealous you didn’t get the sash and crown,” Adaine says, poking Fig. Fig sticks out her tongue at Adaine. 

Fabian sits next to them at the table, placing his meal down in front of him. He looks at it, wondering how long he can leave it before he’ll give in to the temptation of eating it. Maybe he could time himself. 

“Don’t worry, Fig,” Fabian says, pushing his food around with his fork, “Our time will come.”

Tracker, who is sitting next to- or practically on top of Kristen- gives a small snort. Fabian vaguely wonders what she’s even doing here. Tracker is granted access to the school grounds due to Jawbone being her guardian, but Fabian wonders why she turns up to hang out with Kristen so frequently when they live in the same house. 

“You’re certain you’d be prom king?” Tracker asks. 

“Of course,” Fabian says, the answer coming easily to him, “Who else in our year would it be?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I think Riz or Gorgug could give you a run for your money,” Adaine says with a smirk. Fabian snorts at the idea, and Adaine glares at him, “Okay, I’m definitely organising a campaign for Riz to win.” 

Fabian looks over at Riz, who is watching the conversation unfold with some apprehension. Fabian leans over the table towards Riz, who backs away slightly. 

“What do you think, The Ball? Want to run against me?” Fabian asks. Riz swallows, and avoids eye contact. 

“I, uh, I don’t think I look like a prom king,” Riz says.

“Don’t say that,” Fabian says, forgetting any sense of competitiveness, “Some hair gel and a new suit? You’ll look the part.”

Riz gives him a tight smile, “Can’t really afford a new suit.”

“So I’ll buy one for you,” Fabian says, and then gestures to Adaine, “I’ve got good taste, wouldn’t you say?” 

“Fabian, the shop this came from tried to sell me a sailor suit,” Adaine says, tugging at her denim jacket. 

“And I still stand by the fact you’d look good as a sailor!” Fabian says, and then turning his attention back to Riz, “I need you to look good so I have some real competition for when I win.” 

“I don’t need you to buy me clothes, Fabian, it’s fine. I’m good. I’m not sure I’d look so good in a fancy dress suit anyway,” Riz says, “I’m fine with the suits I have.” 

Fabian thinks that Riz being unsure that he’d look good in a dress suit is frankly ridiculous. Fabian is classically attractive, and he knows this. It would be practically impossible not to be with his lineage. This does not mean, however, that Riz should not be deemed unattractive when beside him. In fact, Fabian thinks quite the opposite of Riz. Fabian is used to easy beauty; girls like Aelwyn who look like paintings at first glance, but there is a charm to the kind of handsomeness that Riz possesses. Maybe he doesn’t look like much at first- but it’s the kind of beauty that slowly unravels itself over time. Fabian frequently catches himself seeing something new about Riz to admire. 

“I think you’d look good in a dress suit, The Ball,” Fabian says, “Come shopping with me sometime.” 

Riz goes oddly quiet, and then excuses himself from the table. Fabian looks around, bewildered. 

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks. Adaine rolls her eyes, and eats her food wordlessly. 

Tracker and Kristen share a look, and then Tracker whispers something to Kristen, who giggles. 

“What? What is it?” Fabian demands. Kristen shakes her head, and Tracker grins. 

“Don’t worry about it, rich kid,” Tracker says, and she gets up. 

“I’m done,” Tracker says, and turning to Kristen, “You coming babe?” 

“Coming where? You don’t even have classes here,” Fabian says, and Tracker shoots Fabian a glare, but there’s no real malice to it. 

“You’ve got all the right intentions, Fabian,” Tracker says, “Just try and work on your delivery.” 

Kristen stands up, and she and Tracker head out. Fabian looks at Adaine and Fig, who each just stare back. 

“I mean,” Fig says, “If you want to buy _me_ a prom dress and tell me I look pretty, I’m not going to turn that offer down.”

Adaine laughs and elbows Fig. Fig makes a big show of protesting, and Fabian looks down at his food. _Don’t be soft. Have some control_ , a small voice echoes in his head. 

“You guys coming?” Fabian asks, and Adaine and Fig nod. Fabian dumps his food and heads to class. 

-

This is technically _not_ stalking. This is very much an investigation, and Riz is just conducting a stakeout. There is nothing weird or stalkerish about following your classmate around after school to gather valuable intel. 

Riz slips through shadows as he walks behind Ragh. The night is closing in, and the sky is washed with inky black. The streetlights flood the sidewalks of Elmville in a garish orange, illuminating Ragh. 

Ragh has changed since school. Gone is the letterman jacket and camo sweatpants- they’ve been replaced with a leather jacket and skinny jeans, and Riz manages to look close enough to also spot one dangling earring. The get-up is so alien to Riz that he _had_ to follow Ragh to see what event would constitute it. It would be criminal not to. 

Ragh walks for twenty minutes, and Riz manages to stay undetected behind him, weaving behind him through the streets. Ragh finally slows as they reach Elmville high street. Ragh looks around, and then walks up to a brick building. A pink neon sign that says _Heaven_ hangs above the doorway. There is a bouncer outside, who Ragh briefly regards, taking his hand in a casual shake, and then walks inside. 

Riz stares at the building for a moment. There is the distant thumping of bass coming from the inside. A nightclub. Not entirely Riz’s scene, but hey, he isn’t here for personal enjoyment, he’s here on business. Riz looks down at his own clothing. Could he get in? Perhaps he should have taken Fabian up on his offer. Fabian’s voice, clear as a crystal, rings in Riz’s head for a moment. _I think you’d look good in a dress suit._ Riz pushes down the thought. Now is not the time. 

Riz breathes in, and summoning all the courage he owns walks up to the bouncer. He tries to channel Fig’s unwavering self-assurance as he approaches. 

“Hey,” Riz says, and mentally kicks himself. _Hey_? That’s the best he can do? The bouncer looks him up and down. 

“You old enough to come in here, kid?” The bouncer asks. His voice is gentler than Riz anticipated, and it both eases his worry and puts him on guard. 

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Riz says, and looks the bouncer in the eyes, unblinking. _Confidence,_ Riz chants in his head, _if you act like you belong, they won’t question you._

There is a brief pause, and Riz readies himself for rejection and to call it a night and go home. However, the bouncer gives a small grunt, and opens the door for him.

“Slow night,” He says, “If you expect to come back here again, bring some ID, got it?” 

Riz nods, slightly shocked at his sheer luck, and walks inside. 

For a moment there is only darkness as Riz walks down a hallway. Then, the room opens up, and Riz stops in his tracks. The air is thick and warm. Pulsing lights fill the room, and Riz feels the beat of the music in every bone in his body and the bass vibrates in his chest. A throng of people all move as one on the dancefloor. It’s loud and thudding and claustrophobic, and for a moment Riz considers turning back and leaving. But curiosity has grabbed a hold of him, and he’s come this far- Riz doesn’t want to abandon his mission now. 

Riz walks towards the bar. It smells sour and the wood of the counter is sticky, but Riz tries to make himself look at home. He does a quick scan of his peripheral vision. He can’t see Ragh in the crowd, just a mass of party-goers in mesh t-shirts and thigh-high boots. He sees a girl with the side of her head shaved and for a moment Riz’s heart stops, thinking it could be Tracker, but then she jumps, turning towards Riz just enough that he can see her face and confirm that it isn’t her. The girl laughs and pulls another woman in the crowd closer towards her, and Riz quickly looks away. 

“Can I get you something?” A tiefling bartender asks. The bartender looks casual- jeans, a tank top and an open flannel shirt, and his face is adorned with piercings, “First time here?”

Riz nods and the bartender grins, “Awesome. Don’t look so nervous, we don’t bite. We’re all family here, y’know?” 

Riz doesn’t know, but he nods again anyway, feeling too constricted to do much else. 

“I’ll make you something to get you loosened up,” The bartender says, and starts pulling bottles from the shelves. 

As Riz watches him, someone comes and rests next to Riz at the bar. Riz freezes, wondering if the stranger meant to get so close, until the question is confirmed with a, “Hey.” 

Riz looks over and- wow. He knew that elves were gorgeous, but _wow_. The person standing next to him is gorgeous, like the kind of actors Riz would watch star in movies growing up. The elf clean cut jaw, perfectly clear, dark skin, and hair that falls gently above his brows. 

“Haven’t seen you around before,” He says, tilting his head to look at Riz, “You new in town?” 

Riz shakes his head, and swallows, before choking out, “Nope, just new to… this.” 

As a new songs starts up, Riz is reminded why he doesn’t go clubbing with Fig. The lights and the continuous _thumpthumpthump_ of the music is starting to make him feel dizzy. Where is Ragh? 

The elf beside him laughs, “Well, we all gotta start somewhere. I’m Kieran, by the way.”

Kieran extends a hand and Riz takes it. Kieran’s hand is hot to the touch, and lingers for a moment. 

“Uh, I’m. Ball,” Riz says, and the mentally kicks himself for not coming up with a better alias. 

“Paul?” Kieran asks over the music. Riz nods enthusiastically. 

“Yeah! Paul!” Riz says, and pays for the drink that the bartender puts down in front of him. The bartender looks between Riz and Kieran and gives a knowing smile. 

“Do you want to dance, Paul?” Kieran asks. Riz looks over to the crowd of people on the dance floor. Maybe Ragh is among them. Riz could probably easily blend in if he’s with someone else. 

“Sure,” Riz says, and lets Kieran lead the way. 

Kieran begins to dance, and he moves the way that Adaine casts spells, or like the way Fig plays the bass: like it was the only thing he was put into the world to do. Riz watches him, trance-like, and the thought of finding Ragh escapes him for a moment. Kieran laughs and pulls Riz towards him by the collar. Suddenly Riz is pressed up against Kieran, and Kieran’s hand is on his back, and oh. Riz is caught between panic and pleasure. 

“You alright?” Kieran shouts over the music. Riz nods, and looks around. Weaving in and out around them are people dancing with each other. Riz notices a pattern. Boys in jewellery dance with their arms around boys with long hair. Girls in heels and leather skirts get twirled by girls with cropped hair and denim jackets. Androgynous people sit and the bar and throw their heads back with laughter, exuding confidence and beauty. And, oh god, Riz has fucked up. Riz’s perception, usually keen, has failed him. The club had been so overwhelming that he hadn’t even stopped to think about what _type_ of club it was. The clues all come together, and Riz suddenly feels very dizzy. Of course Ragh would come here. Riz looks up at Kieran, who smiles and begins to lean towards him, and Riz feels himself lurching away. 

“I’m sorry,” Riz says, feeling a pang of guilt at the dismay on Kieran’s face, “I’m sorry, there’s been a mix up. I have to go.”

Riz flees from the dancefloor, pushing past bodies, through the bar and down the dark hallway until he finds the door. He flings the door open and stumbles out onto the street, gulping in the cold air. Shaking, he grabs his crystal from his pocket, and looks at his contacts. There’s only one person he can think of to call. The one person Riz knows he can go to when a party has turned on its head. Riz frantically dials the number, and holds the crystal to one ear. It rings three times before the call gets picked up. 

“Hey, Adaine?” Riz asks, “I need you to come and get me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be vaguely similar to Half-Vacant because this was the fic that HV was going to be before I could commit to banging out 20k words. 
> 
> Part two will be published on Saturday and part three will be published on Monday.


	2. Hell

Riz watches as Adaine scopes around his office. The panic Riz had felt inside of Heaven is gone and has been replaced with a gentle numbness. Riz is familiar with this particular brand of numbness; he recognises it from five years ago, when he’d cry and cry and cry until his body wore itself out and settled into quietness. 

Exhausted, Riz slumps down against the sofa bed in his office. Riz doesn’t have the energy to initiate a conversation, and he simply watches as Adaine picks up random objects: a file, a magnifying glass, a framed photo, and turns them over in her hands. 

Adaine hadn’t asked questions. She had simply turned up outside of Heaven in a taxi ten minutes after Riz had called her. She had put her arms around his shoulders, taken him home, and paid for the ride. If it had been anyone else picking him up, Riz feels as though he would have been bombarded with questions, but not Adaine. Never Adaine- that isn’t her speed. When Adaine found Riz sitting on the curb outside of the club, he had looked up at her, and there had been a silent understanding between the two. Riz just needed someone to take charge, not someone to pry. Adaine was the right choice. 

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Riz says, “I’m fine.You can go home if you want to. I’m sure Jawbone or Sandralynn will be wondering where you are.” 

“No, I want to stay,” Adaine replies quietly, “I told Jawbone I was needed before I left.” 

Adaine puts down one of Riz’s pens that she had been looking at and turns to face Riz. She looks at Riz with an expression that he recognises; it’s the same way Riz looks at clues. He can see Adaine trying to piece together information, not sure what her next move should be. 

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Adaine says, “But if you want to tell someone, you’ve got me here.” 

Riz looks at Adaine, how collected she is, how she manages to be firm and unpatronising but also kind, and for a moment Riz opens his mouth to let it all spill out. And then, by force of habit, he closes his mouth. 

“Alternatively, we could just watch cute cat videos,” Adaine suggests. Riz smiles gratefully at Adaine and nods. Adaine turns to Riz’s computer and starts to boot it up. Riz loses focus on the world for a moment, allowing himself to be lulled into unconsciousness by the soft sounds of Adaine tapping at his keyboard. He drifts between wake and sleep, wondering how many minutes have passed, and why Adaine hasn’t said anything. 

_Shit_. 

Riz bolts up. A pit of fear curdles in his stomach as he remembers that his shitty, second-hand computer has an annoying habit of opening the browser up to the last web-page visited. _The quiz_. The stupid fucking quiz. 

Adaine is silently sat by the computer. Riz’s eyes take a moment to focus, and in his grogginess a glimmer of hope pushes through. The hope, however, is quickly dissipated as the computer screen comes into focus. The _Am I Gay?_ Quiz illuminates the screen. Mortification takes a hold of Riz as he feels his throat go dry. 

“Adaine, I-” Riz says, his voice weak even to his own ears. Can he explain? Is there possibly any excuse, in this moment, that would allow him to worm his way out of the situation? 

Adaine doesn’t move. She just sits and stares at the screen. 

“You know,” She says eventually, voice quiet, “I used to take these kinds of quizzes about anxiety.” 

“Oh?” Riz manages to say. It’s all he _can_ say. 

“Kind of stupid, looking back on it,” Adaine says, still turned away from Riz, “I used to think I was doing it all for attention. Who has panic attacks for attention?” 

Adaine finally swivels the seat to face Riz. Riz studies her face. Pity- of course. Riz couldn’t escape that one. But maybe a hint of empathy, too. Empathy and recognition.

“I didn’t want to ask, earlier on,” Adaine says, “If you had been inside of Heaven. It kind of… putting the pieces together, it was the obvious conclusion.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Riz blurts out. Adaine stares at him, and Riz clutches at the sofa with his hands, nearly tearing through the fabric, “I know it shouldn’t be a big deal but- it is. To me. Just promise you won’t say anything.” 

“I won’t,” Adaine says, slightly startled, but quickly grounding herself, “I promise I won’t.” 

Adaine walks over to Riz slowly, as if she were approaching a caged animal. She takes a seat beside him on the sofa bed, and takes his hand. Riz feels something very small inside of him snap, like a piece of string that has been stretched too tight. 

“Adaine,” Riz manages to say before he starts crying, and he lets the tears fall, he doesn’t wipe them away, “I don’t know what to do. I thought I had it all figured out. I don’t think I know anything anymore. I just want someone to tell me what I feel.” 

Adaine looks at him for a moment, her eyebrows pulled downwards, before she leans over and pulls Riz against herself. Riz wraps his arms around her and lets himself be held. Adaine is a lot warmer than he is; maybe it’s an elven thing. Riz squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in Adaine’s scent. She’s starting to smell a little bit like Fig now that they live under the same roof. He can smell Tracker too, and a little bit of Kristen. 

Adaine doesn’t let go until Riz does. He feels so small, like a kid clinging to his mother, but Adaine doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Hey, can I ask you for a weird favour?” Riz asks. 

“Sure,” Adaine says softly. 

“Can you, uh, maybe sleep here tonight? My mum’s doing the night shift, and I don’t really want to go be alone right now,” Riz explains. 

Adaine smiles and nods at him. She disappears for a moment, and reappears without her jacket in a faded t-shirt, and she’s swapped out her jeans for a pair of Riz’s sweatpants. They are far too short for her, landing just below her knee. Adaine catches Riz staring. 

“Don’t laugh,” She says, “I didn’t bring pyjamas with me, and I know you keep clothes here. By the way, didn’t think you’d own sweatpants.” 

“I think you look nice,” Riz says, his smile colouring his voice, “And they’re just for when it gets too cold.”

“Come here you stupid goblin,” Adaine says, and grabs a discarded blanket from the floor. Riz isn’t the tidiest of people, but he feels too tired to be embarrassed. 

Adaine clambers onto the sofa bed with Riz and throws the blanket over the two of them. Adaine sleeps with her legs curled up and her hands clasped together. With her eyes closed and her face blank of any expression, she looks young. She _is_ young. Riz tends to forget this fact. Adaine is one of the more responsible members of their adventuring party and carries herself with a sense of maturity that the rest of them lack. Under all of the dignification, however, Riz thinks that Adaine might be more like him than he first thought. Maybe she’s just a scared girl trying to make it through the year. 

Riz closes his eyes, scoots closer to Adaine, and eventually falls asleep. 

-

Fabian wakes up to a cold house. He rolls over and groans into his pillow. The heater must have bust- it happens every now and then. It’s usually dealt with quickly; his father will summon someone to deal with the problem, either a friend of a friend or an old crew-mate. Fabian burrows underneath his duvet, curling into himself in an attempt to escape from the cold. He lies for a few minutes, waiting for the problem to resolve itself when he remembers. Right. Yeah. His papa isn’t around to fix it anymore. 

No worries, Fabian reasons with himself, he’s the man of the house now. It couldn’t be too difficult to fix a measly heater. He pulls the duvet off of himself and trudges down to the basement. The house is quiet. For a few brief moments the silence wraps around him and Fabian is the only person in the universe. Fabian pauses in the hallway. What would his life be like, if he set off alone? If he were to cut all ties and sail and sail and sail until it was just him and the ocean? Fabian imagines a future where days and nights roll into one and he loses track of days and weeks and years. There’s a temptation, there, but ultimately hesitation. That future is both a siren call to freedom and loneliness. 

Fabian nears the basement and hears the rattle and groan of a heater that has seen better days. He opens the door and is instantly met by a wave of heat. Fabian winces and takes a step back. In the corner of his eye, Fabian can see phantom flames dancing along the walls, lapping at his feet. He hears a whisper of his mothers scream, and he can smell burning wood. And then, as quickly as it came, it all disappears. 

It’s fine. Fabian is fine. 

Fabian enters the basement. It’s hot and sticky and Fabian fights the urge to simply turn around and leave the damned heater for somebody else to find. But no, he shouldn’t. He can solve his own problems. 

Fabian walks towards the heater. It creaks as he nears it. The air around the heater is thick with arcane energy. Great. It’s not his area of expertise. Fabian gives the heater an experimental kick. Understandably, nothing happens. Fabian sighs- he’ll probably need to call someone in. Maybe Gorgug’s parents; it seems like the type of problem they’d be able to deal with. 

Fabian looks around the room, hoping that something will magically catch his eye, like an enchanted wrench or an extremely easy to understand manual that could help fix the problem, when a box catches his eye. It’s up on a shelf in the corner of the room, collecting dust. Fabian takes a step towards it, and then stops himself. He should go and get ready for school. He should forget about the box and move on with his day. It’s just a box. There will probably be a pretty mundane explanation for its existence, and he’ll waste time trying to grab something that will eventually turn out to be nothing of interest. 

And yet. 

Fabian walks over. He reaches up, and his fingers just brush the bottom of the box. He tries to shift it closer towards him, but it ends up being jolted further to the back of the shelf. Fabian crouches low, like a predator hunting its prey, and then springs up, making a desperate swipe for the box. Fabian manages to grab it, and it instantly slips from his hands and clatters to the floor below. The lid tumbles off and a collection of small trinkets and a wad of photos slide out. 

“Shit,” Fabian mutters to himself, and bends down to collect everything from the floor. 

At the top of the pile of photos is one of Bill and Hallariel. Fabian pauses, and then picks it up. He stands up, holding the photo so that it catches what little light there is in the basement. 

His mama and papa are standing on a ship. They’re both much younger, crazed and bright eyed, their hair blowing in the wind. His father does not yet have an eye-patch, and the scar that runs along his eye resembles Fabian’s somewhat. He looks happy, and brave, and completely in his element. 

Next to him, Hallariel is wearing a devilish grin. Fabian has never seen her like this. Sometimes he forgets that his mother was an adventurer too. She fought, and travelled, and made a name for herself, just as his father had done. It’s sometimes hard for Fabian to imagine that Hallariel was her own person, and not just an extension of his father. For many years Fabian’s mother was almost like a painting: something that lay around the house simply to be admired. But Hallariel is not a decoration. She has a past. She is autonomous. Fabian wonders how much of this past version of his mother is inside of him, and if he would even recognise it if it was.

“My cheekbones look good there,” A hand rests on Fabian’s shoulder and he whips around. Hallariel stands behind him, holding both hands up in submission. 

“When did you get in here?” Fabian asks. 

“You should really work on your passive perception,” Hallariel says, her eyes drifting down to where the contents of the box are scattered on the floor, “That kind of lack of attention could get you killed.” 

Fabian stares at Hallariel, who gently kicks the wad of photos. 

“Not much use in dwelling in the past,” She says. Fabian clings onto the photo in his hand, and Hallariel’s eyes latch onto it. A small smile plays on her lips. 

“Two nights before our wedding,” She says, and Fabian looks back down at the photo, “We had just taken down an enemy ship. Bill told me he’d use the gold we looted for our honeymoon.” 

“You looked... happy,” Fabian says. Hallariel laughs. 

“I was. Your father was a generous man, and he loved me. He was ruthless, and I suppose rather egotistical, but underneath it all he was a fair man. He had a lot of love to give. He loved you a great deal,” Hallariel’s voice is suddenly wistful in a way that Fabian is foreign to hearing, “More than me. But perhaps not more than himself. No, you’d be hard pressed to find anything in this world that Bill loved more than himself.” 

Hallariel looks at Fabian with a humorous smile, and cups his face.

“Get ready for school,” Hallariel says. She lays her palm flat in front of Fabian, expectant, and Fabian reluctantly hands her the photograph. 

Hallariel bends down and begins to scoop the contents of the box up. Fabian watches for a moment, and then slips away. 

After Fabian has finished getting ready, he creeps down to the basement. He slowly opens the door, and looks in. The box is gone. 

-

“The Ball!”

Riz turns as Fabian jogs down the school hallway. Riz freezes at the sight of him. Fabian isn’t who he _really_ wants to see right now. Riz can feel the events of last night bubbling to the surface, ready to spill over at any given moment. How mortifying would it be to blurt something out in front of Fabian? _I might be gay,_ or _I think I’m gay_. Fabian is the last person he wants to find out. That’s one reaction he can’t handle right now. 

Fabian breezes over and slings an arm around Riz’s shoulder before Riz manages to duck away. Riz squirms, but Fabian either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care. 

“The _Ball_ , what are you doing now?” Fabian asks. 

“Uh, rogue classes, I think,” Riz says, all eloquence and intelligence he once possessed turning to mush as his brain shrieks like a siren that _Fabian’s arm is there Fabian’s arm is on you Fabian’s arm is heavy you can very much smell Fabian-_

“Great, you’re already good enough at that, aren’t you?” Fabian says, bringing the two of them to a halt, “Do you want to ditch class with me?”

“What, right now?” Riz squeaks out. 

“Yes, The Ball, _right now_.” 

And sure, Riz knows he should go to class. He imagines Sklonda finding out that he’s skipped, how weary she’ll look, but Fabian is standing in front of him with an attentive expression and Riz physically can’t bring himself to say no. 

“What- what did you have in mind?” Riz says. Fabian’s face twists and he scratches the back of his neck. _Discomfort_ , Riz immediately clocks. It’s not an expression regularly worn by Fabian.

“Okay, so it was brought to my attention that yesterday I was slightly tactless, but I was serious about buying you a suit. If you would let me, The Ball. I would like to do that, as a favour to you. It doesn’t have to be weird or about money. I don’t care about money,” Fabian says. Riz is used to Fabian’s stammering, but seeing him physically uncomfortable, with his shoulders locked and his eye trained downwards is a new experience for Riz. Fabian is being weirdly vulnerable, and Riz gets the feeling that if he shoots Fabian down now, the tough jock bravado will be cemented back up and he won’t get to see this side of Fabian again. 

“Only if you’re sure,” Riz says carefully, and Riz watches as the tension leaves Fabian’s body, who smiles gratefully. 

“Of course I’m sure,” Fabian says, his usual confidence coming back to his voice as he begins striding towards the doors at the front of the school, “You remember The Gilded Coin, don’t you?” 

“No, no way. We can just go to Elm Valley Mall. You’re not making me go in The Gilded Coin,” Riz says. Fabian rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath about taste, but ultimately obliges. 

Finding a suit shop in Elm Valley Mall isn’t difficult. Riz is vaguely aware of its existence but has personally never been. His clothes are off the rack from general, mass-produced clothing stores. Actual tailored suits are a luxury that he can’t afford. 

Fabian strides into the shop like he belongs there, even while looking out of place in his sneakers and sports jacket. Riz supposes he does; no matter what Fabian is wearing, there’s a good chance that it’s been hand sewn with the utmost care for the utmost cost. Riz dips in behind Fabian, feeling suddenly very self-conscious in his own get-up. The shop smells of men’s cologne and polished floorboards. Perfectly pressed suits hang on display, with delicate seams and thick cotton fabric. This level of quality is foreign to Riz. 

“Hello, how may I help you?” A sales assistant drawls, walking up to Fabian and Riz. The sales assistant, a thin, delicate high-elf, regards the two of them with what can only be described as thinly-veiled displeasure. Riz feels himself shrink behind Fabian, who seems unphased. 

“I’m looking for a suit for my friend,” Fabian says, stepping aside and gesturing to Riz. The sales assistant rakes his eyes up and down Riz. 

“We don’t carry many styles in _goblin_ sizes,” The sales assistant says. Fabian inhales and goes to take a step towards the sales assistant, but Riz grabs his arm and shakes his head. There are some battles that aren’t worth fighting. Fabian frowns, but retreats. 

“I’m sure whatever you have is fine,” Riz says. 

“Come with me,” The sales assistant beckons, and Riz glances at Fabian, who shrugs at him. 

“We can go somewhere else, if you want,” Fabian says quietly, but Riz, certain that the only alternative is The Gilded Coin, would like to keep today’s interactions with snobbish sales assistants to a minimum.

“It’s fine, Fabian,” Riz says, and dutifully follows the sales assistant into a back room, Fabian trailing along behind him.

Riz is measured, which is a mortifying experience in of itself. Fabian sits and scrolls through his crystal while Riz tries to look anywhere else but at his friend. Occasionally Fabian glances up at Riz, and Riz’s chest thumps with panic and he averts his gaze to the ceiling. There’s something just a little too intimate about having Fabian in the room as a measuring tape is wound around his wrists, his chest, his thighs. 

“Are you alright?” Fabian asks as the sales assistant swans out of the room to retrieve a few suits. Riz swallows. 

“Fine,” Riz chokes out, “I’m assuming this whole thing gets more fun when I actually, you know, try on the suits.” 

“My simply being here isn’t fun already?” Fabian says, leaning back in his seat with a playful smile, “No, rest assured, this experience will improve once we get to see you in them.” 

The assistant walks back in and hangs three suits on a rack. Fabian politely thanks him and the assistant, haughty as ever, tells them to retrieve him when the first one is on before walking out again. Riz looks at Fabian expectantly. 

“What, you want me to leave?” Fabian says indignantly, and then covers his eye with one hand, “I won’t look. Promise.” 

Riz sighs and glances over at the suits. 

“Which one shall I start with?” He asks, defeated. 

Fabian walks over to the rack, hums, and then fishes out a sharp black suit with a matching tie that is draped over the hanger. 

“Can’t go wrong with the classics, can you?” Fabian says, walking over to Riz and holding it up against his body like Riz is a paper doll. Riz takes the suit from Fabian, trying not to over analyse the feeling of Fabian’s fingers brushing against his own as the garment is transferred between them. This is totally normal. This is just two buddies, hanging out. Feeling small pings of electricity dart down your arm when your best friend accidentally touches your hand is a cool, platonic thing. 

Sometimes Riz gets sick of his own thoughts. 

Riz coughs, and then tells Fabian to turn around, who chuckles and complies. Slowly and carefully, Riz undresses and slips the suit on. It’s heavier than the suits that he’s used to, and the fabric is softer to the touch. The tie feels like silk as Riz winds it around his throat and knots it. He clears his throat. 

“Can I look?” Fabian asks. 

“Uh, yeah, I mean, it’s on,” Riz says, and Fabian turns around. 

Fabian does a double-take. Riz suddenly feels very self-conscious as Fabian examines him. There is an excruciatingly long silence as Fabian takes him in, his eye dark and his jaw set. 

“We can forget this whole thing,” Riz says quickly, “If I look stupid.” 

Fabian’s eye darts up to meet his, and there’s an expression on his face that Riz recognises from when they’ve fought together. It’s a mixture of triumph and bloodlust, though Riz doesn’t see how Fabian’s reaction relates to the situation that they’re in. 

“You don’t look stupid at all,” Fabian says, his voice lower and huskier than Riz has become accustomed to, “Quite the opposite.” 

Fabian steps forward and reaches towards Riz. Riz’s heart instantly picks up, and he holds his breath. Fabian takes the button of the suit and does it up. He’s so close, Riz’s thoughts become a jumbled mess and he can’t focus on anything other than the shape of Fabian’s nose or the angle of his jawline or the curve of his lips. Shit. Shitshitshit. 

“There,” Fabian says, taking a step back, and Riz exhales, “Now you’re ready to see yourself.” 

Fabian puts his hands on Riz’s shoulder and turns him to face the full-length mirror that’s propped up near the back of the room. Riz is preoccupied by the feeling of Fabian’s hands, and then, oh. Everything melts away as he focuses on his reflection. A young, handsome man stares back at him. Riz swallows, his throat feeling thick. 

“I,” Riz breathes, his eyes wide, unable to move, “I look like my dad.” 

Riz knows that he’s looked equal parts like his mom and his dad since he was younger- her nose, his eyes, the list goes on- but in this moment, it’s never been clearer which parts of him have been inherited from his father. All the photos, the faint, blurry memories, the video left for him, sharpen in Riz’s mind’s eye as he stares at himself. _Riz Gukgak, licensed investigator. Carrying on the legacy of government agent Pok Gukgak._

“Riz?” Fabian’s voice comes into focus, and Riz tears his line of sight away from his own reflection, and looks at Fabian in the mirror, “You good?” 

“Sorry,” Riz whispers, “Didn’t mean to say that outloud.” 

“I’ll go and get the assistant,” Fabian says, and he darts out of the room. The sales assistant re-enters and attaches a few pegs to the suit, adjusting the size. 

“What do you think?” The assistant asks, and not even his bored drawl manages to squash Riz’s mood. 

“It’s good. It’s really good. Actually, could I have a minute?” Riz asks. The assistant nods, and Riz is left alone. 

Pok’s passing is pushing six years. Riz and Sklonda will visit him, soon. Sometimes Riz visits Pok on his own, but he never tells Sklonda. He wouldn’t want to worry his mum. 

Riz imagines Pok standing next to him. He wonders what Pok would think of him if he saw the man Riz was becoming. Would he be proud? Would he like Riz’s adventuring party? 

Riz crosses his arms over his chest, hugging himself. He and Sklonda make a good team. They’re making it on their own, doing the best they can, but there’s always going to be that space, unoccupied, left behind. Conversations left unspoken, advice that was never shared, time together cut short. 

Riz blinks, and then starts unbuttoning the suit. There’s a lot he could say, but at the end of the day, he’d just be talking to the air. He’s been talking to the air for six years. One day he’ll grow out of it. 

Riz gets dressed into his regular clothes, and folds the suit over one arm before emerging from the back room into the main store. Fabian looks up. 

“I don’t need to try the rest of them on,” Riz says, placing the suit down on the counter, “This is the one.” 

Fabian steps forward and discusses payment with the assistant, who tells Fabian to return in a week for when they’ve made the adjustments. Still feeling detached, Riz exits the store with Fabian. They walk through the mall, and Riz is surprised at how quiet Fabian is. Riz thinks that maybe, for once, Fabian understands. In a way that the rest of their adventuring party may not have, Fabian knows when to let Riz create his own space. 

“Thank you,” Riz says eventually, when he begins feeling less dazed and more clear-headed. 

“Anytime,” Fabian says, and Riz knows that Fabian genuinely means it. For someone who often comes across and rather self-obsessed and shallow, Fabian is in some ways undeniably kind. He is the type of kind that doesn’t come easily to everyone but so naturally to some. He listens to people, genuinely _listens_ , and quietly stores away the intel until he can make some use of it that says _I heard you and I see you, and I think this will make you happy._

“What do you think? Want to head back to school?” Fabian asks. Riz considers this, and then shakes his head. Hey, Sklonda is going to find out that he bunked one way or another, and right now he’d like to see if she’s home and spend some time with her. 

“No, I think I’m gonna head home,” Riz says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, though.”

Fabian nods and walks Riz to the mall’s exit, where they go their separate ways. Riz breathes out once Fabian rounds a corner. One day, he’ll tell Fabian what this trip actually meant to him. For now, like with so much information in his life, Riz stores it away, puts a lid on it, and walks home. 

-

The school gym is almost empty when Fabian arrives, save for a few senior barbarians that Fabian recognises. Fabian steps onto a treadmill and boots it up. He needs to get out of his head. Thoughts build up over one another and it feels like he’s suffocating. There’s not enough room for them all, and they’re so _loud_. 

There are thoughts about Riz. About how good Riz looked in that suit, about how for a moment Fabian imagined a future in which they turned up as prom together. There are thoughts about how when Fabian pulled Riz towards him to do up the button on his suit jacket, there might have been more than one motivation for doing so. There are thoughts that he can’t indulge, because they don’t make sense, but they still clamor for attention.

And then, transitioning from that, the way Riz’s face looked when he mentioned his dad. How for a split second Riz looked both hurt and wistful. How Riz was able to speak about his father in the open. If Fabian were to talk about his papa to Riz, he would probably understand. Riz has been through this. Riz would probably sit him down and- _no_. He can’t. Fabian can’t talk about problems to do with his father’s passing, because they don’t exist. Fabian is fine. He’s fine. 

Fabian dials up the speed and incline on the treadmill. He needs to focus. He’s Fabian Aramais Seacaster, he’s the captain of the Owlbears, and he’s doing excellent. He increases the speed again. He’s capable of anything. He can push himself. He’s just testing his limits, seeing what he’s _really_ capable of. 

Fabian’s lungs burn and his legs begin to ache beneath him. Fabian pushes forward. He’s not weak. He’s not soft. This is easy for him. See, he thinks, running a hand along his forehead, he’s barely broken a sweat. 

Fabian increases the speed until all he can hear in his head is the pumping of his blood, the sound of his panting and his feet hitting the treadmill below. His head swims and he almost loses balance. It’s fine, he’s been through worse in combat. He needs to be prepared for the worst. 

The edges of Fabian’s vision darken and his mouth tastes of copper. Suddenly, he seems to disconnect from his body, watching himself from above. Something’s wrong, something is about to-

Fabian’s legs lock and he is thrown backwards. Fabian crashes to the floor and his head slams against the linoleum. His entire body aches and his blood _burns_. Fabian’s hand clutches at his chest as his lungs catch up with him. Fabian gasps, his whole body heaving.

The senior barbarians are suddenly above Fabian, looking down at him. 

“Shit, man,” One of them says, “That was a bad fall.” 

One of them crouches down and helps Fabian to sit, who continues to pant. His head feels cloudy. His vision, already impaired, isn’t faring too well. The room seems to spin around him. 

“You alright? Need one of us to take you to the nurse's office?” He asks. Fabian shakes his head. 

“I am perfectly capable of handling myself,” Fabian says, “It’s good. I’m fine.” 

Fabian means it. He’s fine. He’s had worse injuries. And he isn’t even _thinking_ about Bill Seacaster. 

-

Sklonda Gukgak isn’t home when Riz arrives. A small blessing, perhaps, because his head has cleared somewhat on the walk home and he really doesn’t want to feel her disappointment about him ditching school weighing down on him right now. 

Riz resides to the couch and lies on his back, scrolling through his crystal. There are more productive ways to spend his time, but right now, he needs to not think. He pulls up FantasyGram and starts mindlessly scrolling. Fig has recently uploaded a picture of Fabian sitting morosely in Augefort’s nurses office, with a caption that reads _guess which dumbass fell off a treadmill today?_

Riz smiles to himself, and then pauses. Hey. Maybe he can make use of this dead time. 

Riz’s fingers hover over his phone, before he starts punching in _Fabian Seacaster_ into every search engine he can think of. He goes through hashtags, accounts, finds and copies and pastes Fabian’s usernames. He searches for every trace of and profile attached to Fabian that exists. He’s searching for something. He’s searching for clues left about _himself_ . He finds every social media account Fabian could possibly own and filters them for specific key-words. _The Ball. Riz. Friend._ Riz begins to feel a little sick with obsession. This isn’t totally moral. He shouldn’t be doing this. But then again, after today- he wants to crawl inside of Fabian’s head and pick apart every thought he’s ever had about Riz. _What are you thinking?_ Riz wants to scream, _What are you thinking about me?_

Fabian, unfortunately, is oddly private, or rather minimalistic. He doesn’t share a lot of thoughts online. It’s mostly selfies or pictures documenting his own achievements. Riz is somewhat disappointed. 

Riz blinks at his phone when he sees the time. Well shit. Online investigations can suck him in pretty easily, and Riz finds that most of the day has been eaten by it. Riz cranes his neck to peer outside the window. The sky is black. Still no sign of Sklonda; she must have gotten caught up at work. 

Riz rolls off of the couch and stretches. He’s got the evening free, just not much to fill it with. He can’t bring himself to go to his office or try and work on an investigation. His brain feels numb with information. He needs to _move_. 

Riz grabs his jacket and heads out the door after hastily scribbling a note to Sklonda in case she arrives home before he does. _Gone for a walk. Be back soon_. 

The air outside is refreshingly cold. Riz crams his hands into his pocket and sets out, letting his feet lead the way. He winds through streets and ducks down alley’s, letting his mind go blank and letting muscle memory take charge. 

Riz’s footsteps slow down. A large neon sign flickers in front of him. 

_Heaven_. 

He could easily turn back. Riz could do a 180 and simply walk back home. He ended up here by accident- it’s not a sign or anything. 

Riz takes a step back. And then a step forward. And another step forward. 

Riz balls his fists and psyches himself up. It’s just a building. He can do this. Just a building. Riz walks forward and joins a queue that snakes outside of the club. Miraculously, there’s a new bouncer, and with the help of two tiefling girls who are already pretty tipsy, Riz manages to get inside. 

Heaven smells the same, of sweat and alcohol, but there’s a different energy. It beckons to Riz, promising good times and losing himself. There’s expectations in the air. There’s a possibility, Riz thinks, that sometimes things improve. The world is not stagnant, and neither is he, as he becomes part of the crowd that sways with him. 

“Hey,” An androgynous dragonborn sidles up to Riz and begins moving with him, “What’s your deal?” 

It’s a fairly weird question, but Riz just laughs. 

“I’m Riz,” He shouts, “Otherwise known as The Ball, and I’m pretty sure I’m gay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Unresolved Daddy Issues, The Fanfiction


	3. The Afterlife

The floodlights beat down onto the Bloodrush field. This is everything Fabian has been waiting for. This is his _domain_ . Fabian squints and looks out at the bleachers, packed full of students and supportive parents. There’s a ripple of electricity in the air, and excitement sizzles underneath Fabian’s skin. It’s the last match of the season and Fabian is ready. He can feel the eyes of the crowd on him, anticipating what’s to come, ready to lap up his success. Fabian grins and turns towards his team. _Show time_. 

Fabian was built to play Bloodrush. He darts down the field effortlessly. His legs sweep underneath him, as he crashes past players and dives for the end zone. It’s easy. He’s like a machine and he’s programmed to _win_. Fabian can feel his heart working double-time, and he greets the feeling like an old friend. He is at his best when he’s pushing himself. If there’s anything he’s learnt from his parents, it’s that success comes when you test your limits. 

Half-time seems to come too quickly. The team waits in the locker-room for Gortholax, and Fabian paces, bursting with energy. 

“Hey, Fabian, you wanna sit down?” Gorgug says, shifting on the bench so that there’s room next to him. Fabian shakes his head, and Gorgug holds up an energy bar. “You wanna recharge before the second half?” 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Fabian says, shaking his hands out like he is trying to get rid of some of the noise and anticipation in his body. He’ll eat after the game, when they’ve won, once he’s earned it. 

After a quick pep-talk from Gortholax the team files back out onto the pitch. Fabian leads his team like troops into a battle he’s already sure is won. Once again, he looks out to the crowd, scanning for his father’s face. He wants to see how proud he looks, he wants the both of them to bathe in his glory, he wants- oh. 

Fabian stops, feeling his grin fall from his face. Right. How could he forget? These things don’t change. His father, his papa, has been gone for too long for him to still be doing this. It’s childish. Fabian needs to grow up and stop looking for a face in a crowd that won’t be there. 

“Fabian?” Ragh asks, appearing behind him with a hand on his shoulder, “You ready bro?” 

“Yeah,” Fabian says, and his voice sounds distant to him, lost in the wind, “Of course.” 

The game begins again, and the first few plays go just as Fabian had hoped. And then, as Fabian tears down the pitch, he feels suddenly very-light headed. Gravity seems to be getting stronger, and Fabian fumbles, making room for a careless tackle to be able to take place. Fabian grounds himself, blinking furiously, but his vision seems to be skipping as the pitch around him darts back and forth. 

“What the hell dude!” Fabian hears someone yell in his direction, and he shakes his head. Just push forward. He can snap out of this. 

Fabian begins making stupid mistakes. This isn’t right- this isn’t how this match was supposed to go. But Fabian’s head is swimming and his legs almost buckle beneath him. Eventually a time-out is called, and Gortholax pulls Fabian aside. 

“What’s going on kid?” Gortholax asks, and Fabian shakes his head. 

“Nothing. I’m good to play. I’ve got to carry on,” Fabian says. Gortholax narrows his eyes at Fabian, and sighs. 

“I’m going to let you make the decision. It’s your team, I trust you to make the right choice for them,” Gortholax says, and Fabian’s heart twists inside of his chest. 

“I can do it,” Fabian says, his desperation apparent to his own ears. Gortholax shrugs and takes a step back. 

“If you think that’s the sensible thing to do, I’m not going to stop you,” Gortholax says, and Fabian nods, running back onto the pitch. 

_Go_ . Fabian catches the ball and begins to run. _Keep running_ . His ankle twists, and he stumbles, but he keeps going. _Not soft._ Fabian pushes and pushes and pushes. He can feel his heartbeat in every inch of his body, he can feel the burn of his lungs, his throat, his head. He nears the end zone. _Earn it_. Almost, almost-

Fabian throws the ball down and instantly crumples next to it. He can hear cheers, hazy and clouded, like the entire crowd has suddenly been plunged underwater, but cheers nonetheless. He did it. 

Fabian pushes himself up, and as a reflex, looks out to the crowd, scanning for a face. 

“Fabian!” Gorgug runs up to Fabian, putting an arm around his shoulder, “We did it! Fabian! Fabian?” 

The edges of Fabian’s vision darkens. He feels like he’s in the gym again, floating above his body. He needs to get out. He needs to leave. 

“I- I have to go,” Fabian mumbles, pushing Gorgug off, “I need to- I’m going.” 

Fabian runs off the pitch. He uses the last of whatever energy he has to flee into the academy. The hallways are dark, but Fabian doesn’t care. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just knows that he needs to _go_. Everything is catching up with him. The ache in his muscles seems to go down to his bones. Gravity is wrapping her sweet hands around Fabian, beckoning him down towards her, but he resists. Not yet. He can’t be soft. Not yet. 

At the end of the corridor near the exit to the performing arts theatre is a storage cupboard. With his body acting on instinct, Fabian opens it. It’s crowded with mops and cleaning supplies, but Fabian crams them to one side and crawls inside, pulling the door closed behind him. 

Alone, in the dark, Fabian’s resolve crumbles. He wants his papa. He feels stupid. He’s not a little kid anymore. He shouldn’t be soft. But on his own, in the dark, there is nobody to chastise him for being weak. He lets it go. There is no audience here to perform for, no adoring crowds, just him and a couple of bottles of cleaning supplies. 

Fabian lets himself be weak, and he cries, and cries, and cries. 

-

Riz hadn’t meant to stay in school so late, but it worked as a good excuse. Sklonda had started to question Riz about why he was slipping out of the house more and more frequently, and his go-to excuses about _studying with Adaine_ or _playing video games with Fabian_ weren’t making the cut anymore. He knew that Sklonda wouldn’t approve of him sneaking out to visit a bar, but more than just the fear of her disapproval, Riz was hesistant about explaining _what type_ of bar it was. Sklonda would not judge him, Riz knows this to be a fact. Despite this, it’s still not a conversation he’s ready to have yet. He just needs a little more time. 

Riz begins to pack his briefcase, slotting in the jumble of notes and textbooks. He hates essays sometimes. He knows he’s smart, and his ideas make sense, but putting them to paper and organising them in a way that is readable is difficult. Structure is not Riz’s friend. He prefers boards where information is allowed to just _exist_ without having to be chronological. He wonders what his teachers would say if he handed in a conspiracy board instead of a hand-written essay on his assignments due date. It’s a stupid idea, but tempting nontheless. 

Riz grabs the briefcase off the desk and exits the classroom. The school is dark and silent. Nearly everyone has left, but the school has not yet been locked due to a match of Bloodrush being held in the grounds. There will be a poor janitor somewhere, milling around, waiting for the sweaty jocks to collect their things and go. Riz thinks of the janitor working overtime, and then of his mom, sitting at a desk in the police precinct, her hand propping up her head with a cold cup of coffee beside her. His heart aches, and he makes a mental note to add the janitor to the list of teachers he’ll buy an end of year present for. 

Riz begins to walks down the hall and then almost immediately stops. There’s a small, muffled noise coming from somewhere behind him. Riz’s eyes narrow as he carefully turns around. He slips into the shadows, just in case, and waits. The noise is quiet, almost easy to miss, but Riz strains to focus in on it. The hallway is silent- and then there’s a choked sob. Riz frowns, surprised. It’s not a threat, at least, he thinks it couldn’t be one. Riz darts forward silently in the direction of the noise. As he approaches, he locks onto the apparent location of the sound. The cleaning cupboard? Riz stealths towards it, and stands outside, his hand poised over the handle. With one hand hovering over his gun, he pulls it open. 

The last thing that Riz expects to see is Fabian. Fabian is curled up in a dark corner, with his knees pulled into his chest. His face is twisted with something so _unfamiliar_ for Fabian, and with a jolt Riz realises that it’s hurt. His cheeks are stained with tears, and Fabian looks up at Riz, his one eye creased with desperation. Fabian furiously wipes at his face with his letterman jacket as his breath skips with a sob. 

“Fabian,” Riz says quietly, and crouches down. Fabian watches him, unmoving, and presses his lips together, choking back small whimpers, “Are you alright? What happened? Why are you here?” 

Fabian opens his mouth and closes it. He simply stares back at Riz, lost and alone and somehow very, very small. Riz knows Fabian like the back of his hand. He knows the curl of his hair and the shape of his hands and the volume of his laugh and the length of his stammer- but he doesn’t know this. This is a side of Fabian he hasn’t been allowed to see. There is something scary about seeing Fabian so worn down, but Riz recognises the hopelessness. He’s seen it in himself before. 

Riz sits down cross-legged in front of the cupboard. He doesn’t say anything. He waits for Fabian’s breathing to even out. He’ll let Fabian approach him, when he’s ready. 

After a few minutes, Fabian clears his throat. Riz looks up, and Fabian looks marginally more composed. 

“Hey Riz?” Fabian says quietly, “I don’t think I’m coping.” 

Riz sighs, and holds a hand out to Fabian. 

“Do you want to come back to my house?” Riz asks. 

Fabian nods, and he takes Riz’s hand, who only mildly helps Fabian stand up. Fabian brushes invisible lint from his jacket. 

“Thank you,” Fabian says. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Back at the Strongtower Luxury Apartments, Riz slips into his flat, Fabian trailing behind him. Sklonda is in the kitchen, unloading a brown paper bag of groceries. 

“Hey sweetie,” She says, and then seeing Fabian, “Everything alright?” 

“Everything’s good, mom, hold on,” Riz says, and leads Fabian to his bedroom. 

Fabian has been here before, but like every time, he instantly starts poking around. He lifts up photos and newspaper clippings and turns over trinkets. He’s seen all of these objects before, but it doesn’t seem to stop him. Riz wonders what he’s looking for. 

“You okay to be in here for a second? I’m just gonna go help my mom,” Riz says. Fabian nods, and Riz darts back out into the kitchen. Sklonda is putting away a box of cereal, and raises an eyebrow when Riz walks in. 

“Is he okay, Riz?” Sklonda asks. Riz walks over to the grocery bag and starts unloading with her. The kitchen isn’t too big but they work around each other easily. They are used to each other’s movements by now. 

“I don’t know, mom. I’ve never really seen Fabian upset before,” And then, clearing his throat, “If- if he needs to, is it okay if he spends the night here?” 

Sklonda turns towards Riz, and rests a hand on his jaw, tracing circles on his cheek with her thumb. 

“Of course, just get him to call Hallariel if he does, okay? That woman is a lot of work,” Sklonda says. Riz can’t help but lean into her touch. He spends so much time playing at being an adult, but when it’s just the two of them, he allows himself to revert into the role of the kid. 

“Will do,” Riz says, and touches Sklonda’s wrist so that she lowers her arm. 

“Go be with your friend. But hey, Riz?” Sklonda says, as Riz starts heading towards his room, “This Saturday, you and me, movie night and takeout? How does that sound?” 

“Sounds great, mom,” Riz says with a smile, and enters his room. 

Fabian has sprawled himself out on Riz’s bed with one knee at an angle in the air. He looks over at Riz and taps the bed. Riz cautiously walks over and sits very precariously on the edge of his own bed. Fabian leans forward and grabs the scruff of Riz’s collar and yanks him down to lie beside Fabian. It reminds Riz of being a kid again and of sharing a bed during a sleepover. Riz was lucky to have another kid show up to any sleepover he held. Kids were not always kind, and Riz was well acquainted to their cruelty. He can still hear that exact tone of voice that was used to mock him. _Briefcase kid_ . He had been scared during freshman year that _The Ball_ would end up carrying the same weight, that history was going to repeat itself and the past was inescapable. But it never caught on in the same way. Fabian is never cruel or mocking when he says it. There is only endearment. Fabian manages to be both everything Riz was scared a jock would be and somehow everything he never thought a popular, football player _could_ be. Right now, with their heads on the same pillow, it’s hard to just focus on Fabian’s character and not the way his tear-stained eyelashes stick to his cheek or how the way the light reflects off of his skin. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened at school?” Riz asks. 

“Not really,” Fabian says, shifting so that his hand rests underneath his head, creating a barrier between his cheek and the pillow, “It was nothing. I just think it was an intense game and for _some_ reason I got emotional.” 

Riz sighs and watches Fabian. That stubborn resolve isn’t doing either of them any good. He just wishes he could tear Fabian’s walls down. If he were a spellcaster, the temptation to cast _Detect Thoughts_ would definitely be there, even if it was a dick move. 

“I’m not going to make you tell me what really happened,” Riz says, “But if you’re not… _coping_ , you need to tell someone. It doesn’t have to be me. Just someone.” 

“Do you ever get tired of doing the right thing _all_ the time?” Fabian says, and it’s a relief to hear his rich-kid drawl rather than an attempt to push down something that’s aching. 

“Oh, constantly,” Riz says with a small smile, “Hey, you can stay tonight here but you’ll need to call your mom.” 

Fabian’s face clouds, “Right, I’ll do that.” 

Fabian, however, makes no reach for his crystal. Instead, he lies in silence, watching Riz. After a while their breathing becomes synchronised, their chests rising and falling together. It would be very easy, Riz thinks, to lean forward and kiss Fabian. Not that he wants to do that. Or that Fabian would want that. But still. It would be so easy. 

Fabian’s eyelashes begin to flutter as his eyelid droops. 

“Fabian?” Riz whispers, and Fabian responds with a small _hmm_ of recognition, “What is it that you aren’t coping with?” 

“I miss papa,” Fabian mumbles into the pillow. 

A familiar ache grips at Riz’s chest, long worn out, but still there, clinging on. He wonders if Fabian can feel that too, but if the ache is stronger with him. More fresh. Would it be so terrible, to confide in Fabian? To see if someone else could possibly feel the same way he does? 

“Fabian,” Riz whispers again, but this time, there is no response. Fabian has drifted to sleep. Riz lies next to him, and allows himself to watch, for just a moment, to memories every angle and dip and curve of Fabian’s face. He is close enough to feel the warmth of Fabian’s breath, and the heat of his body in general. Maybe there’s a future where these details don’t have to be kept a secret. Maybe there’s a future where this is how Riz ends every night. 

Riz peels himself off the bed. Riz considers attempting to take off Fabian’s letterman jacket for him so that he doesn’t overheat, but decides otherwise. He doesn’t want to risk waking Fabian who looks so peaceful. Instead, he gently tugs Fabian’s crystal from his pocket. Fabian is predictable- his password is his birthday. He finds _Mom_ in Fabian’s contacts, and writes a small message to Hallariel. _Crashing at friend's house. See you tomorrow._ Riz gently places the crystal down on his chest of drawers, and pulls his duvet over Fabian. 

Riz waits for Fabian’s crystal to buzz with a response. After a minute of awkwardly hovering in the room, Riz reasons with himself that Hallariel’s probably read it and knows that Fabian is safe. It’s probably normal for Hallariel not to text back right away. 

Riz switches off the light and lets Fabian sleep. 

-

Fabian wakes up to unfamiliar surroundings. Light is hitting his face, and he groans and shields his eye with his arm. His letterman jacket is still on, crumpled and sticky. Fabian blinks the grogginess out of his eye and sits up.

He’s in Riz’s room, but Riz is nowhere to be seen. The sheets smell like Riz. Fabian peels his jacket off and stumbles out of the bed and into the kitchen. Sklonda is standing over the kitchen stove, making breakfast. Riz is sitting at the table scribbling furiously at some last-minute homework. 

“I’m just saying, sweetie, we could have avoided this if you had just asked me for _help,_ ” Sklonda says, tossing some eggs over in a frying pan, “I don’t want you stressing over school but you’ve got to be more organised. I can help you make a timetable.” 

Fabian watches over the domestic scene. Riz and Sklonda seem to fit together so well. 

“Fabian! You’re up,” Sklonda says. Riz looks up, and between shovelling food into his mouth and writing down notes like his life depends on it, he manages to choke on his food and begin to hack when he sees Fabian. 

“Slow _down_ Riz,” Sklonda warns, “No multi-tasking at the table. Eat first, finish assignment later. Do you want something to eat, Fabian?” 

“Uh,” Fabian says, feeling oddly cared for in a way that makes him retract, it’s so unfamiliar, “Could I grab something to eat on the way to school?” 

“Of course- there’s fruit in the bowl on the counter or I could whip you up some toast?” Sklonda asks. 

“Fruit is fine, thank you,” Fabian says, grabbing an orange and joining Riz at the table. The chair is slightly too small for Fabian, but he shifts until he can just about make it work.

“So, Fabian,” Sklonda says, “Riz tells me he’s been spending quite a few late nights at your place? Are you sure your folks- sorry, sweetie, are you sure Hallariel doesn’t mind?” 

Fabian glances over at Riz, who is furiously shaking his head and miming the _cut_ signal. 

“Uh,” Fabian says, and when he hesitates for a moment too long, feels a sharp kick underneath the kitchen table, “Yup! I mean, she doesn’t mind. Mama is fine with it.” 

Fabian gives Riz an inquisitive look, who mimes back _later_. Fabian looks at the clock on the wall, and stands up. 

“I’m going to head off, maybe see if I can change into some fresh clothes before school,” Fabian says, “Thanks for letting me stay, Mrs Gukgak.” 

“Call me Sklonda,” Sklonda says, and Fabian gives her a grateful smile. Fabian retrieves his jacket, nods at Riz, and heads out. The smell of Riz’s house lingers on his clothes as he walks through Elmville. He’s still somewhat lightheaded, and should probably eat. 

As the fresh air wakes Fabian up, memories of last night slowly crawl back in. The Bloodrush field, looking for his father, _I don’t think I’m coping_. Fabian thinks there’s a part of him still trapped in that supply cupboard, curled into a ball, waiting to stop feeling so heavy, waiting for all of it to go away. He’s not going to think about it. It happened. It’s time to move on. 

What did Sklonda mean, when she said that Riz had been spending a lot of time at his house? Fabian thinks it over as he begins to jog the rest of the journey. If Riz had been telling his mother that he was at Fabian’s, where was he _really_ going? 

Well, Fabian thinks, as he arrives back at Seacaster manor, only one way to find out. 

-

Riz is doodling waves on his schoolwork when Adaine sits down next to him. She faces towards him, her knees pressed together and her hands on her lap, perfect posture that is worthy of school photo day. Riz can feel Adanie’s gaze beating down on him, sharp and intense, trying to will him into acknowledging her presence. Riz sighs, and looks up at her. 

“What?” He asks unceremoniously. 

“What’s been going on with you recently? Are you avoiding me?” Adaine asks, direct as ever, with a tinge of anxiety. Riz almost drops his pen. 

“What? No,” Riz says, giving Adaine his full attention, “I’m not avoiding you.” 

“Well,” Adaine says, the way she does when she’s about to make a case, the trademark of being a politician’s daughter, “The other day you and Fabian disappeared without telling anyone and then you never came back to school. And you’ve started taking ages to text me back. You keep… disappearing. Are you scared that I’m going to tell someone?” 

Without announcing it, Riz knows exactly what Adaine means. _Tell someone that you’re gay._ Riz puts his hand on Adaine’s in what he can only hope is a reassuring way. 

“I trust you, Adaine,” Riz says, and leans forward, lowering his voice, “You’re still the only one that knows, okay?” 

“Well, there’s still something you’re not telling me,” Adaine says crossly, pursing her lips. On her shoulder, Boggy mimics her expression, giving Riz his typical _not sure about this_ glance. Riz frowns back at Boggy. 

“And then today,” Adaine says, seeming to continue an argument that doesn’t really exist, “You’ve been so distracted. You just keep looking at Fabian like- like-”

Adaine’s jaw drops. She stares at Riz like there is a puzzle inside of her head that she’s just found the missing piece for. Riz’s stomach churns. Oh no. This is bad. Riz starts shaking his head, but it’s too late. 

“Oh my god, _Fabian?_ ” Adaine exclaims, and Riz shushes her furiously, trying to make a grab for her flailing hands, “Really? Fabian? Betrothed to my sister Fabian? Does _everyone_ around here have awful taste?” 

“Adaine, please, _please_ be quiet,” Riz says desperately, and Adaine finally stills, “Look, I know, okay? I know that it’s bad. I know that it’s Fabian, and he’s so, so-”

“Straight,” Adaine interjects helpfully.

“Right. Straight. But I’d just like to work through this on my own, if that’s okay? It’s a dumb crush-”

“ _Really_ dumb."

“Yup, super helpful, thanks Adaine. It’s a really dumb crush that’s gonna fade away in a week or two, so for now I’m just going to hang tight. Don’t stir any shit, okay?” Riz says, and Adaine’s face softens. 

“Okay, I’m serious. I’m not going to say or do anything,” Adaine says, and then unable to help herself, “But really? Fabian? You couldn’t have picked someone better- say Zayn, or Gorgug?” 

“First of all, Zayn is a ghost, and secondly, Gorgug?” 

“Gorgug’s _nice_!” Adaine says. 

_Fabian’s nice too_ , Riz’s brain chimes, but the words don’t make it past his lips. 

-

Fabian isn’t very stealthy, but he’s doing his best. 

He’s dressed head to toe in black in an attempt to blend into the darkness. This seemed like a good idea at first, until he left the house, and discovered that his boots heels clicked against the pavement every time he took a step. Maybe if he tip-toes the sound will be reduced somewhat.

It feels sort of weird, scoping out a friends house, but he wants to know what Riz is up to. And hey, he has a plan- he realised that he had left his crystal at Riz’s apartment on his dresser. If Riz catches Fabian following him (if Riz does decide to emerge tonight) Fabian will just say he needed his crystal back before school tomorrow. It’s foolproof. 

Unfortunately for Fabian, scoping someone out is a lot more boring than he had anticipated. It involves a lot of waiting around with nothing to do. Fabian begins to consider calling the whole thing off and heading up to Riz’s apartment to just ask for his crystal to end his frustration, when there is movement. 

Riz slips through his front door, and pushes it shut with a click. Riz’s head darts around, making sure the coast is clear, and Fabian backs into the shadows. He can do this. Unnoticeable, untraceable, just like Riz. 

Riz slinks off into the night, and Fabian darts behind him. It’s like a game of bloodrush. He has to weave and dash in order to stay out of his opponents line of sight. After his last match, Fabian is determined to prove his skills. 

Riz ends up walking for a while before breaking out onto Elmville high street. Riz crosses the road and heads for a small brick building with a bouncer outside of it. Riz regards the bouncer with some familiarity, and slips inside. 

Fabian juts out his chin. A club? He didn’t take it to be Riz’s sort of scene, moreso Fig’s. Fabian tousles his hair and walks over, trying to emulate the ease with which Riz had entered with. Fabian nods at the bouncer and attempts to slip inside, when a hand is placed on his chest. 

“Not so fast, pretty boy,” The bouncer says, “How old are you?” 

“I’ll have you know I’m older than _him_ ,” Fabian says, nodding his head towards the door that Riz had just slipped inside. The bouncer raises an eyebrow. 

“He’s a regular. You got some ID on you?” The bouncer asks. A regular? What was Riz doing regularly at a club? Was this the scene of some crime that he is investigating? 

Fabian sighs, and dig into his pocket, producing a handful of gold coins. 

“Will this suffice?” Fabian asks. The bouncer regards Fabian and the coins dubiously, and then takes them. 

“Go on then,” The bouncer says, and steps aside. 

Fabian walks down a dark corridor and emerges into a much brighter room. Lights flash and music pounds, and a flock of people on the dance floor move as one. Fabian glances around, trying to spot Riz. His eyes drift to the bar, where two male half-orcs are sitting incredibly close. One of them leans in and whispers into the other’s ear, his hand resting on the other’s thigh. Near them is what looks like an older couple, a female dwarf and a female gnome, and _oh_. Right. All the couples here are gay. Fabian blinks. He’s followed Riz into a gay bar. 

“Can I help, lovie?” An aasimar seems to appear out of thin air in front of Fabian. He’s beautiful, with hair, eyes and skin that are all almost completely black, save for a pearl like, iridescent sheen. 

“I’m looking for my friend, Riz,” Fabian says, trying not to stare at the man in front of him, but finding it difficult to tear his eyes away. The aasimar snorts. 

“Riz? Good luck with that one. He never goes home with anyone, lovie, just comes here to dance and chat,” He says, “Think I saw him just come in. He’ll be on the floor somewhere.” 

The aasimar regards Fabian once more, and maybe if Fabian wasn’t on a mission he’d make time for the handsome stranger in front of him, but there are more pressing issues. Fabian thanks the man and slips into the dance floor, weaving between people. 

There, in the middle, with his back turned to Fabian, is Riz. He is swaying to the music, awkward, inexperienced, but enchanting. He is lost and not looking to be found, and Fabian feels guilty. He considers turning back and slipping away, never letting Riz know that he was here, that he knows more than he should- but that feels more dishonest than anything he’s already done tonight. So Fabian steps forward, reaches out a hand, and places it on Riz’s shoulder. 

Riz turns around and freezes. His happy-go-lucky smile vanishes and he gawps up at Fabian, his eyes wide and his ears pressed down low. It is not perhaps the warm welcome Fabian wanted. 

“Fabian?” Riz squeaks out, barely audible above the music. 

“Riz,” Fabian responds, “Hi.” 

The colour drains from Riz’s face and he grabs Fabian’s wrist. 

“Woah, woah, hey,” Fabian begins protesting, but Riz starts marching out of the club, dragging Fabian behind him. They stumble out into the night air, and Fabian gets a better look at Riz. Riz’s chest is heaving and his skin glistens with sweat. Fabian hadn’t entered too long after Riz, but Riz already looks somewhat disheveled. 

Riz drags Fabian into a small alleyway and let’s go of his wrist. He takes a step back from Fabian and folds his arms over his chest, still looking bewildered. 

“What are you doing here, Fabian?” Riz demands. Fabian puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs, “Don’t! Don’t give me that. I need to know why you were in there.” 

“I guess,” Fabian says, and scratches the back of his neck, trying to find the best way to admit everything to Riz, “I was near your house, and, well…” 

“You _followed_ me?” Riz says, his voice strangled, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Jesus!” 

“Hey!” Fabian says, “I was just doing what you always do!” 

“How did you-” Riz’s eyes narrow. He surveys Fabian for a moment, and then sighs with annoyance, “Nevermind. I just- I was only in there because-”

Fabian can see Riz’s mind working double time, rolling through every excuse in the book. Fabian doesn’t know why he’s trying to hide this, or why he never told Fabian in the first place. Did he think Fabian would _resent_ him for it? Fabian thinks, at this point, nothing could make him dislike Riz. Least of all this. Definitely not this. 

“You know, don’t you?” Riz says, voice quiet. 

Fabian nods, leaning against a wall, “Yeah. I guess I know.” 

Fabian watches as Riz runs a hand through his hair, and then stares at the ground. Fabian wishes he could reach across and put a hand on Riz’s shoulder and make everything okay, but somehow he doesn’t think that’s the best course of action.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fabian asks quietly. It seems like the safest thing to say.

“I was scared. I was scared about what you’d think,” Riz says. Fabian frowns.

“What I’d think? I mean, there’s Kristen and Tracker and Ragh, and I never- I don’t care about that stuff. I’ve never cared about that stuff. Why would it be different if I knew about you?” Fabian asks. He begins to feel riled up, but he isn’t sure why. He just wishes Riz would trust him. He wishes Riz knew that there was nothing that could change the way he thought about him. 

“Because if you knew,” Riz says, his voice shaking, “If you knew, then maybe you would figure it out. You might find out that I-” 

Riz stops himself. He turns his head on his side, and stares at Fabian with wide eyes, his pupils, usually small slits, expanded. He looks young and scared. He’s vulnerable, Fabian realises. He’s so close to breaking open. Something here is vulnerable. 

“Find out what?” Fabian says, his mouth suddenly dry. The answer seems to be dangling in the air in front of him, so close, yet just out of reach. 

“You know what?” Riz says, “I’ll finish that sentence if you tell me why you were shut in that cleaning cupboard after the Bloodrush match. And don’t lie to me, Fabian. You’re not as good of a liar as you think you are.” 

“I- I didn’t feel good,” Fabian says meekly, the excuse weak even to his own ears. 

“Bullshit. Try again,” Riz says, his voice hard-edged. 

“Fine. Alright. Here it comes. I miss papa, and it makes me feel fucking weak and awful, okay? And I wanted some control back. So, I don’t know, I stopped- or, I didn’t- it’s stupid. But I didn’t eat enough, because I thought that I could take control of everything through that. Like I was testing my own strength, or willpower, or some bullshit. And I ended up pushing everything too hard,” Fabian finds himself out of breath and the end of this, his brain finally catching up to his mouth, “Because I miss my fucking father and I don’t know how to deal with that. So I nearly passed out and I locked myself in a cupboard, and frankly, I still feel like shit, because I haven’t eaten a proper meal in a week.” 

Riz’s eyes dart back and forth, scanning Fabian, looking for some foil, before he shakes his head. 

“Jesus, Fabian,” Riz says, his voice loaded with so many things, but mainly hurt, and it’s unfair, the last thing that Fabian wanted to do was hurt Riz, “Why didn’t you go and see Jawbone? Why didn’t you come and talk to me?” 

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Fabian asks, irritable, “I’m just trying to find a way to cope.”

“Of course it fucking matters!” Riz explodes, and Fabian backs up slightly, shocked, “This isn’t coping! This is self-destructive bullshit!” 

“I’m not hurting anyone!” Fabian says, raising his voice to match Riz’s desperate one. 

“You’re hurting yourself! You’re hurting _me_! I need you to cut this out, and if you can’t bring yourself to do it for you, do it for me,” Riz pleads, his face screwed up in a way that startles Fabian, “You don’t have to- to- self destruct to live up to your dad!”

“You wouldn’t do the same?” Fabian asks. 

“No! Of course not!” Riz says, but there’s a wavering there. Fabian has struck something.

“So, none of this, being an adventurer, putting yourself in harm's way, none of that has to do with your dad? You wouldn’t solve crimes too big for you if it meant you felt closer to your dad? You wouldn’t go after a dragon if it meant you could avenge him?”

“That’s not fair,” Riz says, his voice cold, “This isn’t about me. This is about _you_.” 

“And I’m fine,” Fabian says, and Riz practically yelps in frustration. 

“Shut up! Shut _up_ ! You’re not fine! You’re not okay! But I need you to be okay for _me._ Can I be selfish for a moment? Please? Am I allowed to just be selfish?” 

Fabian has always been selfish. It was hard not to be, growing up with Cathilda doting on him, attending to his every need, and his father leaving everything behind to give Fabian the best life he could make for him. It’s been instilled into Fabian to think only of himself, but for a moment, he puts himself into Riz’s shoes. Riz, who dedicates his life to solving other people’s problems, who is so determined to follow in the footsteps of a man who died trying to save others. Riz, the son of Sklonda, who taught him early that selflessness is not always a luxury but a necessity to survive. Riz does not ask for much, but this is what he’s asking for, and maybe, maybe Fabian can put aside his own selfishness to give it to him. 

“Fine. I’m not okay. I feel like a bunch of broken parts that someone has crammed together into a human body and everyone expects me to work as normal. Now what? Where do we go from here?” Fabian asks. Riz goes quiet, and then looks up at Fabian. 

“Meet me at my apartment on Saturday at two. There’s something I need to show you. Bring my new suit,” Riz says. He looks tired. Fabian didn’t mean for any of this to happen. He’s not sure how they got here. 

Fabian nods. It’s the least he can do. Fabian looks down at his shoes, unsure of what to say.

“Hey, you never finished what you were about to-” Fabian trails off as he looks up and sees that Riz has disappeared. 

-

Fabian arrives at Riz’s apartment five minutes earlier than scheduled. Riz opens the door to him, and Fabian stands in the doorway, looking somewhat abashed. 

“You can come in,” Riz says, eyeing up the suit in Fabian’s arms, sheathed in a layer of plastic. 

Fabian dutifully walks inside. He’s dressed less casually than Riz is used to. There’s no letterman jacket, just a shirt and his black jeans, and Riz thinks that he must have taken cue from his request for his suit. Riz holds his arms out, and Fabian passes the outfit over to him. 

“Thanks again,” Riz says, “Wait here.” 

Riz disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a click. He doesn’t take long to get dressed, but he does give himself time to stare at himself in the mirror again. A mix of himself and his dad smiles back at him. The ache, dull but ever present, awakens in his chest. Riz doesn’t think it will ever go away, but he’s made peace with it a long time ago. He remembers a time where he used to wish it would leave entirely. Now he’s grateful for it’s presence. It’s part of him, a physical memory. 

Riz steps out of his room and regards Fabian, who is awkwardly leaning against the counter. He looks more gaunt than usual, and Riz holds back a sigh. It’s okay. Hopefully this will help. 

“Let’s go,” Riz says, and leads Fabian out of the door. 

It’s a cold afternoon. The sky is grey, and Riz suspects that it might rain in a couple of hours, but for now they have time. Riz leads Fabian through Elmsville, stopping only once. They are outside of a florist. Riz points to a large bouquet of lilies. 

“Buy those for me,” Riz instructs. 

“I- what?” Fabian stammer, but Riz simply repeats himself. Fabian, predictable as ever, pulls out a gold piece and hands it to the vendor, who passes the flowers to Riz. Riz thanks the vendor and they keep moving. 

Riz slows as they reach Cravencroft cemetery. Riz can see Fabian watching him in his peripheral vision, but Riz doesn’t say anything. Instead, he silently wills himself to move forward and they walk until they reach a familiar grave. 

“Here we are,” Riz says, and he looks down at the headstone, only very slightly worn with age. 

_Here lies Pok Gukgak. Father and Husband._

Riz places the flowers down. He doesn’t look at Fabian, not yet. He is splitting himself open for Fabian to see, and he isn’t sure what Fabian will think of what lies beneath the cracks. Here it is. 

“Riz, you,” Fabian says, eventually breaking the silence, “We’ve come here before, you didn’t say anything.” 

“Didn’t want to,” Riz says, putting his hands in the pockets of his suit, “Hey, dad. Do I look sharp? This is Fabian. He bought it for me.” 

Fabian clears his throat, and looks between Riz and the grave. 

“Hello, Mr. Gukgak,” He says, and then falls silent again. 

Riz sighs and bends down to sit in front of the grave. Fabian follows suit. Riz sits with the quiet, letting it wash over him. Fabian is the first person he’s come here with that isn’t Sklonda. In a way, Fabian is the person he trusts the most after her. Says a lot, earning the trust of a Gukgak. He won’t tell Fabian this. He doesn’t need his ego inflated any more than it already is. 

“I understand what you meant, Fabian,” Riz says, picking at a blade of grass, “When you said that missing your dad made you feel weak. I felt like I didn’t know how to survive when I found out that dad had- that he’d moved on. Everything hurt so much. There was this ache in my chest and it wouldn’t go away.” 

Riz places his hand against his chest, and he can feel it, still. 

“I thought I’d never get better. I guess I never did. Not fully. I don’t think you ever truly forget how much it hurts, or what grief feels like. But mom, Sklonda, she took me to a grief counsellor. And I think I learnt something good there. It doesn’t hurt because you’re weak. It hurts because you lost something good. It hurts because it mattered.” 

Riz looks over at Fabian and smiles. He can feel himself well up and he lets it happen. He’s allowed to cry here. His dad won’t mind. 

“Wouldn’t that be a shitty thing, if it didn’t hurt at all? If you never cared about something enough for losing it to hurt?” Riz says. Fabian is quiet. He looks down at the ground, his jaw set in a straight line- but he’s not angry. He glances at Riz, and he’s grateful. Riz can see it in him. 

“Sometimes I still have dreams about him,” Riz continues, “He’s still here with me, like I remembered him. Loud and smart and brave. I get to spend time with him. But when I wake up, it’s like someone reopened the wound. Every time it happens it’s like I lose him again. And I used to feel like an idiot for that. I wasn’t really losing him, if he’d already gone. But I forgave myself. I thought there was a right way to handle grief, and I clearly wasn’t doing it right. But I don’t think there is a right way anymore. You hurt, and you hurt, and you can only hope that sometimes it hurts less.” 

Fabian nods. 

“I feel stupid, sometimes,” Fabian says, “I ring him on my crystal. I let it ring a couple of times before I remeber. I feel stupid for forgetting in the first place.” 

“It’s hard to remember,” Riz says, “You’re going to spend a lot of time remembering at first. You’re going to spend a lot of mornings waking up and only remembering a minute afterwards. It doesn’t make you stupid. I think we’re just programmed that way.” 

Fabian readjusts himself, pulling his knees into his chest. He looks young. They’re just kids. It’s unfair that they had to go through this. They’re just _kids_. 

“When do you miss him?” Fabian asks. Riz takes a breath, mulling over the question. 

“I miss him when mom isn’t home, I guess,” Riz says, “I miss him when mom burns this dinner or when she gets angry at me. I miss him when we watch his favourite movie. I miss him when I see other people getting to hang out with their dad’s. I miss him when I have something to tell him.” 

Riz mimics Fabian’s position, and rests his chin on his knees, “It sucks that he had to miss out on so much. I wish he was around so I could tell him everything. I want those conversations. I want to talk about adventuring. I want to tell him about you guys. I wish I could’ve- I wish I could’ve told him that I was gay.” 

Riz pauses, and looks over at Fabian. Fabian looks right back, and any and all fear melts away. There is no judgement. There is only Fabian, his best friend. The only person he could tell all of this to. The only person he wishes he could tell everything to without ruining everything. 

Riz sits back and stretches his legs out. He rests his hands either side of himself, propping himself up. He feels a warmth, and a weight, and he glances over. Fabian, no longer looking at him, has taken hold of one of his hands. Fabian gives Riz’s hand a small squeeze, and does not let go. He just keeps holding, and holding, and holding. 

-

“You’re so _gross_!” Kristen shrieks, covering her eyes with her hands. The Bad Kids, with the additions of Zelda and Tracker, are crammed around a table at Krom’s diner. It is bustling with customers and they have to raise their voices to be heard. 

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Riz objects, as Fabian shuffles into the booth next to him. Fabian reaches his arm across the back of the booth, and Riz happily worms his way closer to Fabian, “You two are like, the monarchs of PDA. He barely kissed me.” 

Fabian smiles devilishly at Riz, and kisses him again on the forehead. 

“How about now?” Fabian says, and pecks Riz on the cheek, repeating it as he kisses Riz’s jaw, and nose, and lips, repeating the phrase into his skin, making sure that Riz can feel his smile. 

“It’s different when we do it. When we do it it’s _sexy_. You two are just- I don’t have to explain myself! You’re mushy and gross, okay?” Kristen says, and Tracker grins at her. 

“Idiots, I’m surrounded by idiots,” Adaine says out loud to nobody in particular, and Fig waves a spoon at her. 

“I think you’re just jealous that you’re the only one here who’s single,” Fig remarks. Adaine shoots back a glare. 

“Fig, _you’re_ single,” Adaine says. 

“Not true! Technically!” Fig says, getting over-excited and sitting forward in her seat, “I get my kisses in with Dr. Ash-” 

“Nope!” Adaine cuts through, “I definitely don’t want to hear about that. It is _truly_ disturbing.” 

Fabian glances around him. Things are easy now. Well, as easy as they can be. Riz was right- it still hurts. He still carries a weight with him, but each day it seems to get a little lighter. He doesn’t find himself carrying it alone anymore, either. He finds himself confiding in Riz during late night sleepovers, or casually talking about what he’s going through over video games. Each time Fabian talks about it’s a little easier to say it all out loud. He has a partner in crime. Whenever he feels himself slipping back into old habits and tendencies, Riz is there to catch him when he falls. He does the same for Riz, too. He would do it all for Riz, over and over again, in a heartbeat. 

Riz was the one who finally got Fabian to talk to Jawbone. Riz showed Fabian the recording that Pok had left him. Fabian had watched, wide-eyed, feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He remembers Riz’s eyes on him. _Are you okay?_ Riz had asked. _You kept this?_ Fabian said back, and Riz’s eyes had narrowed with concern. _Of course I kept it. Why wouldn’t I keep it?_ And some small part of Fabian realised that maybe, _maybe,_ his relationship with his father didn’t exactly follow the norm. That there were things there that were unresolved and followed him around. Now, seeing Jawbone, things aren’t perfect but Fabian is working through them. _A city isn’t built or taken down overnight_ , Jawbone had told him, _you’re going to get past this. You just have to give it some time._

But here, in the diner with his friends, with his newly established _boyfriend_ , Fabian feels like he’s at the top of a tower, looking down on the world. He is not invincible, but he’s alive. What more could he ask for? He feels truly, truly _alive._

Fabian Aramais Seacaster is… coping. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♪It's my fanfic and I'll make Riz and Fabian unpack their trauma if I want to♪
> 
> Thank you for reading! Writing and editing a 20k fic in a short amount of time was challenging, but comments and kudos make it worth it, so big thank you to everyone who has done that!


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